


Casting Concerns

by Styfas



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Dialogue Heavy, Gen, MIght as well be scriptfic, Might be Crackfic? Who Knows - But it Certainly is Silly!, Post-Canon, Post-expedition, niche AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:27:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29948589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Styfas/pseuds/Styfas
Summary: Lt. Hodgson has differences with the casting team (Francis Crozier and Thomas Jopson) about their casting decisions for the charity post-expedition production of The Magic Flute, in which all the male roles are to be taken by former expedition members.  Specifically, he speaks about his not being suitable for the role in which he's been cast.For Terror Bingo Square:  Niche AU  (the niche being opera, and the fach system of voice categorization applied to opera).
Comments: 9
Kudos: 9
Collections: The Terror Bingo





	Casting Concerns

**Author's Note:**

> (My niche here is opera, my being a singer and voice teacher, and my having done a decent share of opera singing (roles and chorus), both locally and regionally. I'll spare you the resume. 😄 (No, I am in NO WAY famous!) <\-- But wouldn't it be really cool if we DID have a famous opera singer posting fic?!?!
> 
> As always, I thank [Drac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drac), who introduced me to The Terror in the first place, and who support me by reading (not exactly beta reading, but "filtering" - if that makes sense) my supposed final versions of fics. 🧡 
> 
> Usual disclaimers apply: I didn't/don't know any of these men in real life (RIP to all 💔, nor do I own any of the "characters" as realized in the AMC production of The Terror. They belong to producers, writers, directors, actors, and anyone else who had anything to do with the TV programme.
> 
> This is fiction, and I'm not making any money from it.

Lieutenant Hodgson stands at the Great Cabin door on Terror, going over his prepared speech in his mind for the twelfth time, concentrating on slowing down his breath, and relaxing his brow as much as he’s able before he’ll decide to finally knock on the door. 

On the other side of that door are Captain Crozier and Mr. Jopson, the casting team for the ship’s upcoming production of _The Magic Flute_. In theory it’s a wonderful idea: doing four performances of an abridged version of the opera for charity. They’ve all achieved celebrity status, and this is yet another way to capitalize on that celebrity, and to further bask in the success of the Franklin Expedition. Terror and Erebus will be the performance venues on alternate nights, and members of the expedition are cast in all the male roles. 

A wonderful idea, indeed – except for the fact that he has been miscast, along with so many others. Why the captain didn’t ask him to serve on the casting team is a mystery – unless he didn’t want any claims from the crew members about biased casting. For Hodgson to be on the committee and also cast in a role might have appeared suspect.

Hodgson raps at the door. 

“Come!” the captain calls. 

Hodgson enters, ready to deliver his memorized speech. The captain and Mr. Jopson are seated at the table, papers spread out in front of them.

“Captain, Mr. Jopson, I’d like-”

“Ah, you’re just in time,” the Captain says. “Jopson and I were just preparing the rehearsal schedule. And how is our Monostatos today?” 

Hodgson starts his speech again. “Captain, Mr. Jopson, I’d like to speak with you about the casting decisions.”

The Captain lifts his eyebrows. “Plural?”

“Yes, Sir. Not just what you’ve assigned to me, but there are others.”

“Have you spoken with the others? Is this a mutiny?” Crozier looks to Jopson with a chuckle.

“No, I come entirely of my own accord, and on my own behalf. I’ve not heard the others talking, and I haven't spoken with them.”

Crozier leans forward. “Please, sit down.”

There’s enough of a curl to Crozier’s lips for Hodgson to know that he’s not being taken seriously. Undaunted, he sits down to present his thoughts, returning to his script. “I’m concerned in particular about the role you’ve given me. It’s not in my fach. You’ve assigned me-”

Mr. Jopson’s eyebrows scrunch together. “Fach?”

“A German word. Literally, it means a compartment or a subject of study. In singing, the Fach System is a method of categorizing singers according to the range, weight, and color of the voice. Physical stature and appearance may be taken into account, as well. It’s not as simple as tenor, baritone, or bass. There are several _categories_ of each.”

“Go on,” the captain says, his cheeks lifting.

“You’ve assigned me a role that is not in my fach. It’s not suited to my voice. Do you honestly intend to cast me in a role meant for a spieltenor?”

Hodgson is met with blank faces. 

_“A comic tenor!_ You might as well be casting me as Don Basilio in _Il nozze di Figaro.”_

Blank faces again.

_“The Marriage of Figaro!”_

Crozier turns to Jopson. “Write that down for next year. We’ll mount a production of _The Marriage of Figaro_ , with Lieutenant Hodgson as Don Basilio.”

“Yes, Sir.” Jopson takes up his pencil.

“No!” Hodgson says.

“Unless there’s some _other_ role you’d prefer?” the captain asks.

“It’s the only tenor role in that opera.”

“Good! Then you’ll not complain.”

“But I’m not a spieltenor!” 

“Do tell me more,” the captain says, leaning back in this chair.

Hodgson doesn’t know how or why he allowed the conversation to take this turn; he must bring it back to his more immediate concerns. “I’m a lyric tenor. I should be playing the role of Tamino. Instead you’ve cast Mr. Hickey. He doesn’t look or sound the part, and he can’t sustain the vocal demands of the role. _He_ should be playing Monostatos!” 

“You as Tamino,” Crozier says. “Hodgson, do you really think anyone’s going to take you seriously as a romantic lead?”

“And why on Earth not? Will anyone take Mr. Hickey seriously? Tamino’s the _hero_ – and a prince! I for one can’t begin to imagine Mr. Hickey as-”

“The decision’s been made,” the captain says. “if you don’t want the part of Monostatos, then we can put you in one of the smaller roles: The Second Priest or one of the Armoured Men. Unless you’d rather have a speaking role instead?”

“No!” A tiny role or a speaking role won’t do, yet the captain shows no signs of budging from his decision to cast Mr. Hickey as Tamino. Hodgson concedes with an exasperated sigh. “Very well. Monostatos. But I shall begin studying the role of Tamino, and I’ll be prepared to step in at a moment’s notice in the event that Mr. Hickey is unable to perform, whether due to illness, injury, or his not being suitable for the role in any way.”

“Good,” the captain says. “You do that. And we’ll have Mr. Hickey understudy Monostatos.” He opens his hands, palms facing upward. “Problem solved.”

Hodgson presses his lips together to keep his protests from spilling out.

“Now,” the captain says, ”would you care to educate me on your other casting concerns?” 

“Yes. Sarastro. No one from either ship would be able to sing that role. We should bring in an outside singer.”

“We? As I recall, you aren’t on the casting team.”

“But no one from Terror or Erebus can sing those arias, Sir.”

“I see.” Crozier smiles. “I assume there must be a specific fach for that role, as well?”

“Basso profundo. With a low F in one of the arias, and a low E in the other, besides. Commander Fitzjames can’t sing that role! He’s a kavalierbariton at best.”

“But he’ll cut an imposing figure,” Jopson says. “Sarastro's the High Priest, after all. That's something like being Captain.”

“And we’ll take his arias up a few keys,” Crozier says with a wave of his hand.

“Oh, so now you’re casting only according to appearance and personality? Is that it?”

“They’re important factors,” Jopson says.

“But they shouldn’t be the _only_ factors! Take Papageno, for instance. Mr. Goodsir? What were you thinking?”

“He’ll be adorable,” Jopson says. “Everybody loves Papageno!”

“Well, not everybody loves Mr. Goodsir!” Seeing both pairs of eyes widen in horror, Hodgson clarifies. “I don’t speak for myself, of course, but what I will say is that nobody’s going to love Papageno if Mr. Goodsir is trying to sing it. Ergo, no one will love Mr. Goodsir. The man can’t even sing!” 

“He’ll be charming in the dialogues,” Jopson says. “He can talk-sing the arias. I know he can do it.” 

“What? Did you even ask him? And what about the duets and ensembles? Tom Hartnell would be the obvious choice. His lyric baritone voice and physical stature are perfectly suited for the role – and he can sing! Further, he won’t be a bumbling-”

“Enough,” Crozier says, raising his hand, palm forward. “The casting decisions have been made, and we will go forward as planned. Do I make myself clear?”

Mid-way through Hodgson’s sigh, there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Crozier calls.

Mr. Goodsir gingerly steps into the cabin. “Captain, Lieutenant. Mr. Jopson.“

“Ah, and here’s our Pagageno now! We were just talking about you,” Crozier says.

“A word, if I may, SIr? About Papageno. Unless I’m interrupting? Shall I come back later?”

“That won’t be necessary. Please, stay.”

“Thank you.” Goodsir approaches the table and remains standing. “Uh, captain, Mr. Jopson, I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate your casting me as Pagageno.”

“Our pleasure,” Crozier says. 

“But I’m sorry, I can’t accept the role. I’m grateful for your confidence in me – but If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to allow someone more deserving to play the role. I can’t sing.” He shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head.

“See?” Hodgson says to Crozier and Jopson. “Even Mr. Goodsir knows that he can’t sing!”

“You didn’t have to agree so readily, Lieutenant,” Goodsir says, deflated.

Hodgson turns to Goodsir. “But it’s the truth! We all know it!” 

Goodsir shrinks inward and bows his head like a scolded puppy.

Crozier speaks. “I appreciate your candour and your humility, Mr. Goodsir. I especially appreciate that you’re not being presumptuous with your request. Unlike Lieutenant Hodgson.”

Goodsir looks up. “What do you mean?”

“Lieutenant Spieltenor here thinks he should be cast as Tamino.”

“I am _not_ a spieltenor!” Hodgson sputters. “I’m a _lyric_ tenor - and a light lyric tenor, at that. My voice is perfect for Tamino.”

With a smirk, Crozier shifts his gaze to Goodsir. “Mr. Goodsir, what do _you_ think?”

“I-I wouldn’t know, and it’s not for me to say. I wasn’t on the casting team.”

Crozier casts a self-satisfied glance at Hodgson. “You might do well to follow Mr. Goodsir’s example.”

“Captain,” Goodsir says, “will you please consider my request to re-cast Papageno? I’ll happily take tickets, be an usher, or sell concessions instead.”

“Granted,” Crozier says with a nod. “You’ve been relieved of the role.”

Goodsir smiles for the first time since entering the Great Cabin. “Thank you, Sir. Thank you!” He turns and swiftly leaves the cabin.

“Well!” Hodgson says, chest puffed up. “If you can so easily grant Mr. Goodsir his request, then I shall ask again that you grant mine.”

“Hmm, but it seems we now need to re-cast Papageno,” the captain says, leaning forward and stroking his chin. His lips slowly widen into a smile. “Hodgson, you’ve got the role!”

_“But it’s not in my fach!”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. ❤


End file.
